


Maybe next time, I'll let her stay

by nycz



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Comfort/Angst, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, POV First Person, Sexual Content, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:17:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nycz/pseuds/nycz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Every night when she knocks on my door, my heart soars and every night when she leaves I crumble, hoping that this night was the last so I don't have to feel this pain again.</em><br/> </p>
<p>Emma and Regina have been sleeping together for a while, but Regina fears that their fragile relationship is turning into something more than lust and what that will lead to.</p>
<p>Regina's POV, some time after 3x22.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midnight Musings

**Author's Note:**

> So this kind of came out of nowhere, but I like how it turned out. I might continue it if people want me to (or if my muse decides to throw another plot bunny in my face).

I don't move until I hear the front door close. I can't, not when she's still so near, not when I still could jump out of bed and stop her and upset what fragile semblance of peace we have.

So I wait for her to gather her clothes and hurriedly dress herself, seeing only flashes of her blond hair as I pretend to be asleep.

It's easier this way.

I turn around, my eyes roaming over the messy bed, the result of hours of being tangled up in her warm embrace. Images of her lying there with a lazy smile, her eyes sparkling, flashes before my eyes. Memories of her gentle caress as she brushes away a few dark tresses from my face, tucking them behind my ear. Her eyes so soft, so inviting, promising safety and happiness and–

 _No._ I let out a huff of frustration, turning away from her side of the bed – since when does she have her own side? – and close my eyes. Why do I have to complicate things? Things are good as they are. Things are simple.

I take a deep breath, trying to clear my thoughts.

I can still smell her. Both the flowery perfume of her shampoo and the musky scent of, well, _Emma_. For a flicker of a moment I consider changing the sheets, but as her scent fills my nostrils, my resolve is lost and I scoot over to her side, letting her lingering warmth envelop me.

Pathetic. It's really the only word I can use to describe myself, pining for the mere scent of a woman I have done nothing to keep and nothing to deserve.

The Evil Queen, she fought and she conquered.

The Mayor, she schemed and she took.

But Regina...

Regina, she receives what she is graciously _allowed_ to have. She scrambles for scraps of affection whoever is willing to give her. She clings to hope, the hope that fate will finally deem her worthy of love. And then it is ripped away by the one person she had trusted the most.

I clench my jaw, my eyes stinging from unshed tears as I remember my mother's words.

_Love is weakness._

It's ironic, really. Just as I was beginning to doubt the truth of those words, fate threw me aside once more, denying me the happy ending I thought I had found. Maybe I've had what little happiness I'm allowed to get? Not that it was a heart-swelling romance with him, no. But it was simple and it was easy and I had deserved it. Hadn't I? Wasn't it enough to save my nemesis and her daughter, to let my son go, to defeat my sister? Wasn't it enough to be good?

Obviously it wasn't. Fate seems as set in its ways as Henry was when it all started, clear categories of black and white, villains and heroes, and I'll always remain a villain in its eyes.

With a defeated sigh, I flop onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. Most nights when she's been here, I can push her out of my mind and get some sleep, eventually. This night, however, she has invaded my mind and refuses to leave. The bed feels colder without her and I pull the covers closer to me. I despise how warm she makes me feel, for I know the better it feels, the the more it will hurt when she takes it away. That's why I can't let her come back; I would get used to it.

But I'm weak and I let her in. I'm not even ashamed to admit it anymore, at least not to myself. Every night when she knocks on my door, my heart soars and every night when she leaves I crumble, hoping that this night was the last so I don't have to feel this pain again. I've tried to push her away, time after time. _It's for both our sake,_ I've tried to tell her, _and for Henry's._ She smiles and gives me that look, understanding and sorrow and fondness all together and then she still shows up the next night.

I don't understand it. She's smart – even though she might be a little airy at times – she has to understand what will come out of this, doesn't she?

The more I let her in, the more she learns, the more she gets to know me, she'll see who I really am and she will leave. Good and evil, hero and villain, they don't mix. We may both be broken in our own ways and we understand each other uniquely because of it, but I will always be the villain. Fate has made sure of that.

And yet she smiles at me afterwards in bed – that soft, warm, radiant smile reserved only for me – and kisses me like I'm worth something, like I deserve more than scraps and leftovers and pity. Like I'm beautiful, not only on the outside but all of me. I'm tempted to pull out my heart and show her its ugliness – my ugliness – but somehow I know she won't see it like that.

I don't understand it, but I see the truth in her eyes, the genuine warmth and contentment and _something else_ in her smile and I want to see more of it. I don't understand how she can smile so brightly when she hovers over me in bed, but I never want her to stop. She is pure light and she makes my darkness disappear, if only for a night.

It would be so easy to let her in. She's made it perfectly clear what she wants and where she wants to be and part of me wants to give it to her, give it all to her. A large part of me. I could be happy with her, I know that. To wake up next to her every day, her body curling up on mine as a protective shell, shielding me from hurt and pain, I have no doubt I would be happy in her arms.

I don't know if I'm selfish or stupid to even entertain the thought; I know what will happen, despite her optimism. She'll leave, eventually.

But even villains want their few moments of happiness. Some villains even deserve it.

I bury my face in her pillow, still warm from her body.

Maybe next time, I'll let her stay.


	2. Dangerous Domesticity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be just one extra chapter... but no. Apparently not. Another chapter should be around the corner, with more smut and angst.
> 
> Hope you'll like it. Comments are greatly appreciated.

Five days later, she knocks on my door again.

"You're early," I note, ignoring the way my heart skips from her presence. She usually doesn't show up until around midnight.

She gives me a part sheepish, part hopeful smile and shoves her hands down her pockets. "I had a late lunch and then worked late at the station, so..." She shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant.

"You want me to feed you." It's not a question; I know how much she enjoys my food, although she doesn't get to taste it as often as she'd like.

Her smile turns into a wide grin. "Just a sandwich or anything would be great. I don't want to spoil my appetite for tonight," she adds a in lower tone, brushing past me.

I scoff. "You're always hungry, Miss Swan. I doubt a few sandwiches would stop your insatiable appetite."

I've already opened the fridge when I realize how eerily domestic this is. We're not together, we're barely even friends. I'm sure Emma would call us "fuckbuddies" or something equally crass.

Emma's arms snake around my waist, and she murmurs in my ear, "Have I told you how hot you look with an apron?" She pulls me flush against her body, nuzzling and kissing my neck. It's too intimate but I can't get myself to stop it.

"I thought you wanted a sandwich," I say, trying to keep my voice level.

She chuckles, pulling away after a final, soft kiss to my neck – why does she have to be so gentle? – and sits down at the kitchen island.

"Are you cooking something?" she asks.

"What?" Oh, the apron. "I'm making cookies." I wince as soon as I've said it; I sound like a housewife from the fifties. Could this get any more domestic?

"Ooh, what kind of cookies?"

I put down the plate with her sandwich in front of her. "Chocolate chip cookies. They're for Henry."

"Oh." Her pout is too damn adorable even though I know she uses it on purpose. She knows every trick in the book to get past my defenses and has apparently no qualms of using them.

Sighing, I relent, like I always do. "Fine. You can taste them when they're done."

She rewards me with a beaming smile as she chews happily on her sandwich. I'm not sure I know anyone else who can get so satisfied by food alone.

Silence settles in the kitchen. I don't know what to ask or what to say. What are we supposed to talk about, anyway? The weather? Henry? Magic?

A shrill sound pierce the air, the timer telling me the cookies are done. Saved by the bell.

"No," I say, swatting away Emma's hand as she reaches for the scalding hot plate of cookies. "You'll hurt yourself."

"Didn't know you cared about my well-being," she smirks, resting her errant hand on my hip.

"Don't be ridiculous. What would Henry say if I let you get hurt in my kitchen."

She laughs softly, easily seeing through my paper thin explanation. Then she takes a step forward, and I have to back up, my back against the kitchen island. She's towering over me even though she's only in inch or so taller. I'm glad I'm wearing heels, if only to be able to keep my composure.

"What- what are you doing," I say when she leans over and nibbles at my neck, her hands roaming over my waist and hips. My eyes flutter close and I can't help but enjoy what she's doing to me. Still, I can't calm the fear and worry in my mind. It's all too intimate. Why can't she understand that?

"Waiting for the cookies to cool down," she murmurs and licks a long line up along the side of my neck. Her voice turns to a whisper. "I want to fuck you while you're wearing that apron."

The tension leaves my body as my mind focuses on her words. She just wants to have sex. Good. That, I can handle.

She flips me around and I have barely enough time to brace myself against the counter-top before she presses her body against my back, inserting a muscular leg between my thighs. God, she's so strong. I arch into her and she grabs me by the throat, pulling me back even further so she can bite and lick at my neck. A moan escapes my lips.

Her free hand roams over my thigh, gliding up until it finds the hem of my dress. She chuckles huskily and then suddenly moves her hand to cup me through the soaked lace. _Yes._

"I love it when you're wearing a dress," she hums, "and not just because of the... obvious advantages." I gasp when I feel her fingers rub against the fabric. "You look so fucking powerful wearing them. It's beautiful. You're beautiful," she whispers, her breath hot against my ear.

I nearly groan out loud – why did she have to say that? I'm weak, she should know that. After all, I let her in every time knocks on my door. Why does she have to complicate everything? She can't want me and she shouldn't want me, not like that. And yet I can practically feel her lo– _adoration_ every time she touches me.

"Just fuck me," I try to order her but the way it comes out, it sounds more like a breathless plea.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," she says and I don't need to see her to know exactly the unrepentant grin she's wearing. She's even managed to make my old title sound good.

She enters me in one swift motion, sliding two long fingers inside me and coaxing a choked moan from my dry lips. Her mouth is busy making my knees tremble from her kisses and nibbles and licks on my neck, but at least she isn't talking anymore.

With her fingers between my legs, it doesn't take long for me to reach the edge. I come with a groan, shivering and curling in on myself while she continues to move inside me, dragging out my pleasure as long as possible.

When I come down from my high, I find myself being held in her arms, almost sitting in her lap. I should get up, fix my clothes and... I don't know. I'm too tired to care. So I let out a little sigh and rest my head on her shoulder and allow her to hold me as if we were something more than enemies with benefits – as if there even was a "we".

She's so warm, so strong and I could sit here forever, I realize, and I hate myself for it and her for pushing me towards this. Towards us.

A part of me doesn't even want to sleep with her tonight, not like that, but simply sleep with her there with me, holding me the whole night and making me feel secure. It's pathetic.

But it won't work, I know it won't! Why can't I see it? Eventually, fate will toss me aside again and she'll leave, taking my heart with her. I should be content with Henry and what little friendships I have and leave it at that. I should be content and I shouldn't long for someone who's bound to hurt me even more than she's already done.

But I'm not.

I want her.

I _want_ her.

A gentle hand brushing away a few locks from my face pulls me out of my thoughts.

"Hey," she murmurs. "Where did you go?"

I look up and her eyes are so open and trusting. I open my mouth to say something – something meaningful and true, for once – but my fears get the better of me and I scoot off her with a fake smile.

"It's nothing, dear."

Averting my eyes downwards and smoothing out a few wrinkles on my apron, I wonder what to do now. I feel awkward; this evening went off the rails from the very start. I have to stop this, I have to send her away and–

And then a finger pulls my chin up and our eyes meet. I can see all her emotions, all the things she won't say out loud, all the things she spares me. It's breathtaking and wonderful and terrifying all at the same time.

My eyes widen and my mouth opens just a bit as I see it. She isn't looking at me with lust, she's looking at me with–

No. I can't let this happen.

"Miss Swan," I warn as sharply as I can muster, taking a step back. This is getting out of hand and I have to stop it while what we have is still salvageable. 

The problem is, I have no idea how.

I can see that she won't accept my usual excuses and I know, deep inside, that I won't be able to deny her if she asks me.

She follows me, carefully, like a predator toying with her prey. She knows she's already won, but she wants to see me crumbled and destroyed because that is the _only_ thing that will happen–

My back connects with the wall and all I can see is her as she closes the distance between us. Cupping my cheek with her hand, she gives me a soft smile and murmurs, "it's 'Emma'," before pressing her lips to mine.

The kiss is nothing like what we've shared before, sweet and caring and gentle and I melt into it, my arms linking behind her neck of their own accord.

She hums happily when we finally break apart, resting her forehead against mine.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Her voice is low but I hear it as if it she was shouting it from the rooftops. It's more than the lighthearted question she's made it out to be, we both know that.

I should push her away.

I should end this now, while it still won't hurt so much.

I should tell her that I don't want this, that it was a mistake and that it's over.

I should do so many things.

But I don't.

"No, it wasn't," I murmur, burying my head in the crook of her neck, breathing in her intoxicating scent.

Somehow, defeat doesn't feel so bad.


	3. Lovely Lies (I Tell Myself)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this turned out longer than I thought it would. A lot longer. And smuttier. Expect at least another chapter, possibly more. I'd like to touch some of Emma's problems too, although still from Regina's view. Honestly, I could probably end it pretty nicely after the next chapter (as long as I can keep it short, yeah sure that'll happen) but I've still got a few more ideas and I like their dynamic.
> 
> I'm also thinking of writing a oneshot prequel, showing how they got together in the first place. Possibly.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for all the comments, they really make my day much brighter. :)

She holds my hand as we ascend the stairs, cradling it as if it is something fragile and precious. 

I find myself wondering if she would hold my heart the same way.

There's a strange charge in the air and I find myself yet again unsure of what to do. We've never been this calm when we've entered my bedroom; instead we've usually been tearing off clothes as fast as possible, buttons scattering and clothes tossed carelessly aside.

She tugs on my hand and I turn around, meeting her eyes. They're dark, pupils wide, and the look in them makes my heart skip a beat. My hands open and close, my mind a mess of fear and worry, and I have to tear my gaze away. I hate how complicated this has become and hate her for not letting it be as it was: no emotions, just sex. Simple pleasures.

(Although I'm beginning to wonder if it ever was just sex for her, or for me.)

"Hey," she murmurs, stepping closer to me. Her hands find their way onto my body, one on my hip and one at the small of my back. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to." Despite her words, she tilts her head and presses her lips against my neck, humming happily against my skin.

I want to scream – _now_ she says tells me?

How am I supposed to stop this when she's doing that with her tongue – _oh_ – and seeks out every sensitive spot on my neck and throat? I try to let out a frustrated puff of air, but again it comes out like a moan.

Of course, I shouldn't be surprised that she's this incoherent; no one has ever accused her of being a particularly competent woman. She fumbles about in that adorably likable way of hers and yet somehow she comes out on the winning end time and time again.

What really bothers me though, is how _little_ her faults bothers me. It would have been so easy to see her as nothing more than a beautiful woman whom I wanted in my bed, but I can't do that anymore. All I see when I look at her is everything I will lose when she leaves me.

Clenching my jaw, I force back the tears that threaten to spill. I don't want to let the future spoil what I have right now, but I can't seem to help it. Images of a yellow car, speeding off into the distance as I stand on my porch, alone–

"Regina," she says and she's right there in front of me, looking at me with confusion and worry as she wipes off an errant tear that had managed to make its way down my cheek. "Shit. Are you okay? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have–"

"It's fine," I try, but the words are so clearly forced it's laughable.

She gives me a half smile, caressing my cheek with her thumb. "No, you're not. I can tell when you're lying." Moments pass before she speaks again, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Is it... is it about your marriage?"

My marriage? Has she understood nothing? I almost want to laugh.

"Miss Swan–"

"Emma," she corrects me.

I roll my eyes. "My marriage was one of duty and coercion. I didn't have any say of my own." I'm surprised at how easy the words come. "I never had a choice and no one ever asked me what I wanted. Especially not... him." I clear my throat awkwardly.

My magic is restless inside me, still calling for pain and vengeance and I start pacing, clenching my jaw. I despise talking about my past – especially my marriage – and shouldn't have to. She should know this, she should have figured this all out already just like she has figured out almost everything else about me.

"When did you get the impression that you have forced me to do anything? You have been patient and gentle and have deferred every decision about our... relationship –" the word feels strange to say but strangely good at the same time– "to me, letting me dictate what should happen. And seeing how we have been sleeping together more times than I can remember – every time with my consent – I clearly have no problem with that. I don't know in which fantasy world you think you're anywhere near a man who cared nothing for me, who ignored my every wish and who used me as a nanny and a _whore_."

I stop, chest heaving and magic simmering under my skin and wonder what just happened. Did I just compliment Emma on her handling of our relationship? But that's not– _damn it._

Emma blinks, clearly taken aback by little outburst. "I– I didn't mean, like– I, uh," she fumbles for something to say. "I don't know what I meant. I think." She tilts her head, realizing something. "Did you just say you like how our relationship has been going?"

"Please," I scoff, but then I look at her and her damn face is there, all caring and soft and beaming and I want to believe her. 

I want to believe that she'll stay, that she'll take care of me and that she'll let me do the same for her. I want to believe that there can be an _us_ and that it will be good. I want to believe that even villains may get happy endings.

I want to believe all that but I can't. I've deluded myself before, thinking that power would somehow heal my broken heart or that revenge was worth sacrificing the one I loved the most.

It's so tempting, but I can't let my own selfish quest for a happy ending cloud my judgment and hurt what little I care about anymore. I can't do that to Emma and Henry.

I'll break it off tomorrow. I'll explain it to her and she'll understand and I will be able to put her and this part of my life behind me. Eventually, it will be nothing more than a nostalgic memory of something that wasn't meant to be. She will respect my wishes and there will be no new feud, just two broken women going separate ways.

It's for the best.

I should probably end it right now, but if I'm going to end it, I want to have this last night to remember her by.

I surge forwards, mashing my lips against hers in a heated, messy kiss. She responds almost instantly, her hands pulling us closer together. A moan slips past her lips as she parts them for my greedy tongue. I can't get enough of how she tastes.

Gasping for air, we finally break apart and she stares at me with an odd expression. Confusion, lust, worry.

But I don't care. It's the last time I'll have her and I want her _now_.

"Clothes, off," I practically growl and kisses her again, pulling off her tank top with practiced ease. She fumbles with my dress – even after all these times? – but manages to pull down the zipper after a few tries.

I pull her over to the bed, giving her a hard shove down onto the mattress. She looks so damn delicious like that: panting heavily, wearing only bra and those impossibly tight jeans, staring up at me with pure lust.

(It's obvious that it's more than lust, but I ignore it. It doesn't matter anymore.)

My dress falls to the floor and I kick off my heels before joining her on the bed, straddling her legs.

"Regina," she says hoarsely, warning in her voice as I unbutton and pull down her jeans as quickly as possible.

"Just let me have you tonight," I whisper, finally getting rid of her pants and running my hands all over that wonderful, warm skin.

Something about the way I say it apparently raises a warning flag in her mind, because she is about to object when I silence her with a finger on her lips.

"I want you," I breathe in her ear, hoping it will be enough to put her worries to rest. I should feel bad for using her like this, but I'm too far gone to care. And I do want her. I _need_ her.

Her bra is quickly done away with and she lets out a content sigh as I lock my lips around one of her nipples, sucking and licking on it. Her moans and needy noises set my body on fire and I need _more_.

I scoot up, catching her lips with mine again. She's soft, she's warm and I almost get lost in the kiss as it slowly gets gentler and slower – damn it!

With a growl, I tear my lips away, trailing kisses and nibbles along her jawline and the side of her neck. I want to keep it fast and intense; it's the only way I'll be able to stay in the moment and not think about what I will have to do tomorrow.

_Gods, I wish I could mark her,_ I think, running my lips over her skin. It's a part of me I've worked so hard to curb since I've been sleeping with her, the part that wants to take, conquer and claim, possessive and demanding.

My hands map every dip and curve of her torso as I crawl down her body, trailing kisses all over her delicious skin. I've never marked her, never even with a little love bite. At first because she was nothing I wanted to show off and now because I will give up every claim on her tomorrow. But damn, I still want to mark her. I want to make her _mine_.

I can smell her now, that sweet, musky smell I've come to love. I slowly pull off her boyshorts and then look up at her face, hovering just over her sex, waiting for her to react.

At first she frowns, probably wondering why I've stopped. She tangles a hand in my hair, gently tugging it towards where she needs me but I don't budge. Her eyes, when she opens them, are hazy with lust and I grin, wide and wolfish.

With the first lick, her eyes flutter back closed. I don't bother taking it slow; she tastes too good and I love the way her hips move and jerk in reaction to my hungry lapping.

"Regina," she pants, tightening the grip on my hair slightly, "I need – _ahh_ – you i-inside me. Please."

I love how desperate she sounds – how desperate I make her for my touch.

Without warning, I push three fingers inside her just as I lock my lips around her clit and she arches her back with a loud gasp. Her body moves on its own, accompanied by increasingly needy and breathless noises while I relentlessly push her closer to the edge.

I already know this won't be enough for me. A single night with her will never be enough. The thought only makes me bury myself deeper between her legs, desperate for more of her taste.

Then her body tenses, clenching around my fingers and she lets out a loud, high-pitched groan, her face a mask of delicious, exquisite torture.

I don't slow down until her body relaxes and she tugs weakly at my hair.

Pulling out my fingers and sitting up on my haunches, I smirk at the sight of her. Her bright blonde hair is messy, splayed all over the pillow; her lips are swollen and slightly parted; and there's a thin layer of sweat covering her exhausted body. She looks so perfect lying there, tired and thoroughly fucked.

I slide up to lie beside her, careful not to touch her. I'm here to fuck, nothing more. Nothing to weaken my resolve, nothing to make me want to stay.

She reaches for me with a tired hand but when I don't respond or come any closer, she lets it fall to the mattress and sighs.

I wish I could hold her, I really do.

She'll know exactly why I can't, soon enough.


	4. Fleeting Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the ridiculous wait! I really hadn't planned on anything like this, but a mixture of RL stuff and a lack of inspiration led to it anyway.
> 
> I have gotten a fairly good idea of how to write the rest of the story now, though. It should be two, maybe three more chapters and possibly an epilogue. (not sure what would be in it, though. Maybe just a bunch of semi-angsty fluff. We'll see.) So 2-4 more chapters alltogether.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and happy (in an angsty way?) reading!

"God, Regina," Emma rasps with a little chuckle; I can practically hear her satisfied grin. "That was fucking amazing." Rolling over on her side, facing me, she runs her hand over my arm, tracing the skin with her fingers. "I'm not sure I'll be able to top that," she murmurs, scooting closer to place a kiss on my shoulder. "But I'll do my best."

I swallow hard, licking my dry lips as I panic rises inside of me. I can't handle this. As much as my body reacts to her touches – and oh, does it react – my mind won't let me enjoy it. Every pleasurable sensation is drowned out by a reminder that she'll leave – _they all do_ – eventually. She'll leave and I'll be alone again and I don't want to think about how I'll react, but I can't help myself.

When Daniel died, I lost my way. I became a monster, a villain. Years were spent on a revenge that I still can't entirely let go of. The only reason Storybrooke didn't become a gaping hole when Robin was taken away was how little I knew him. He was more of a promise than anything else, really.

A leg slides in between my thighs and I instinctively move against it, trying to stay in the here and now, doing my best to enjoy it. She hovers above me, her hungry eyes raking over my body. Still, I don't feel trapped – I never do with Emma. Emma is different than anyone else I've been with and that is exactly why I can't let this continue with her. The monster I became after Daniel will be nothing compared to what I'll become when Emma leaves me.

"Hey," she mumbles softly, stilling her movements and giving me that gentle, concerned look again. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I try with a weak but no less fake smile, regretting it the moment I see the flash of hurt on her face.

"You just... it feels like you're not entirely here." She gazes down on me, eyes narrowed, a hint of the lonely, distrustful woman she was when she came to my town years earlier. "Something's bothering you." Untangling herself from me, she lies down on her side next to me, only our hands touching.

"It's nothing. I just feel a bit... off." My heart is beating far too fast for my own liking and my breath is rapid and shallow. One could think it is because of what the beautiful woman next to me has been doing to me, but I know better.

"Really." She grins, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Because a few minutes ago you gave me, like, the best fucking I've ever had."

I huff at her crass language – but what else is new – and let my eyes rest on the ceiling. Whatever plan I had is dead and gone and I find myself more and more at a loss for what to do. Do I tell her now? Can I even still make it through the night without telling her? I had hoped to end it in a less intimate environment, somewhere where I could keep my walls up but it seems less and less likely that I'll get that chance.

What feels like minutes pass until I realize that she's remaining quiet, watching me. "What?" I ask with a note of confusion.

A tiny smirk grazes her lips and she shrugs lightly. "I'm waiting for you to get over you indignation at the fact that I'm right and to tell me what it's about." Her face softens and she moves her hand slowly over my arm in a comforting gesture. "You can tell me whatever it is that's bothering you, Regina. You can talk to me."

I take a shuddering breath, my throat thick and uncomfortable. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" I wonder quietly, still not taking my eyes off the ceiling. This isn't going to turn out well, that's for sure.

She chuckles. "You know how stubborn I can be. Especially when it comes to people I care about."

Her words are both wonderful and terrible and I bite my lip to stop the tears threatening to fall. "You're not going to like what I have to say." The hand on my arm seizes its movement, but she stays quiet. "If we move on from a strictly physical relationship to something more, it won't just affect us alone anymore. Knowing this town, something will eventually happen and when we split up, Henry will–"

"'When'? What's that supposed to mean?" There's a sharpness to her voice that wasn't there earlier.

"I–"

"You think I'll just up and leave if things get shitty?" Emma snaps and I turn towards her. She's staring at me, surprise and hurt written all across her face.

I blink, momentarily confused. That wasn't at all what I meant. "No, that's not–"

Emma withdraws her hand completely and sits up. "In a few years I've gone from some lonely orphan to having a family, a home, a kid – a _son_ – and more friends and folks I know than pretty much the rest of my life combined. I haven't run despite all that and despite all the magic crap that has been going on here either." She clenched her jaw, momentarily looking down at her lap before meeting my eyes again. "Yeah, I know what you're going to say. I've thought about running several times. I almost ran back to New York. But what did it take to get me to stay? Hook, of all people, convinced me. That's all it took.

"The thing is, I didn't choose any of them. Sure, I love my parents and Henry but I got them, I didn't choose them. But I chose you. I can't promise I won't be an idiot and run at some point but I can promise I'll always return. Why would I run from the one I chose to be with?"

I stare at her, taken aback by her words. I haven't even considered that, and a wave of shame hits me as I realize that I've never really thought about her side of all of this. But despite that, it's not about her, is it? It's about me, and about things neither of us can do anything about.

"I didn't mean it like that," I say softly, trying to convey my apology even with my sparse words. "What I mean is that everyone I've gotten close to has – for one reason or another – left me, eventually. Either by my hand or theirs or someone else's entirely."

Emma gives me a wild, incredulous look. "So to stop it from happening again, you want to end this between us?" She shakes her head. "That's a self-fulfilling prophecy. And a bunch of crap."

"As much as I would like to believe you, the fact is that the risk is too great to Henry. You have to understand that, We can't let the mere potential of something between us give Henry false hope. You know how he wants a family." In fact, he's been not so subtly asking just how good friends me and Emma are, clearly hoping for something more than friends. The last thing I want to do is to get him to hope just to crush it later on. I can't do that to him.

Emma's face hardens and she narrows her eyes dangerously. "No, you're not talking about a 'potential' between us. You just said you were sure that whatever might happen with us wouldn't lead anywhere. Do you really believe that?" She looks so bewildered, like she isn't even sure who she's talking to anymore. Maybe she doesn't know me so well after all.

"Of course I can't be sure, but the risk is too great. I can't risk it for..." I make a vague gesture with my hand, "whatever it is that may or may not become of us." I'm not sure anymore if I'm convincing myself or if I actually believe it, but I know I have to believe it. I care too much about Emma and Henry to risk them for my own selfish happiness.

"Even when that whatever might be your–" She falters for a moment before continuing, "might be something _good_? Something that could make you happy?"

A quiet, mirthless chuckle escape my lips. "Villains don't get happy endings, dear."

Emma scoffs. "That's bullshit! Gold married his True Love or whatever and Hook's probably going to find some girl when he's gotten tired of hitting on Tink. How do you explain that?"

"Maybe it's just me, then," I say so quietly it's barely more than a whisper. Perhaps fate actually put a target on my head even before I was born, dooming me to years of pain. I wouldn't be surprised.

"No, it's... you don't deserve that," Emma insists. "You can't give up this easily. I know you; you fight for what you want, no matter what."

Her eyes are so wide and pleading, but I know that what she wants is nothing I can give. I can't be that selfish, not when it will hurt even more people around me in the end. So I say nothing and avert my eyes. It's all I can do to keep my walls from crumbling.

We sit quietly for a while. The atmosphere is pressing and noxious, a far cry from the moment in the kitchen earlier this evening.

"That thing you said earlier," she breaks the silence at last, her voice flat and low. "You wanted to, what, 'have me just for tonight'. You..." A short pause and a shaky breath. "You were planning this, didn't you? To end it tonight? One last fucking before you dumped me," she chuckles bitterly.

I don't respond. My instincts scream at me to pull her into my arms, murmur apologies and kiss her until everything we said would be forgotten and then fall asleep, safely curled up next to her. But how many times haven't I acted on my instincts, only to hurt people because of it? Losing Emma would destroy me; I know it – I feel it already. I need to let things end and if I say anything else I'll break.

"So this is it." Her voice cracks and it hurts me more than I thought it could. This was supposed to hurt less, wasn't it? I hear her stand up, reaching for her clothes between choked sniffles. "Regina. At least look at me. Please. You can have your happy ending. With me or someone else. Just don't–" she draws a shaky breath, "don't do this. Not like this."

My eyes burn with unshed tears but I can't make myself look at her, even though a part of me wants it more than anything else. Instead, I flick my wrist, letting my magic envelope her naked body and clothe it. I need her out. Gone. Now. "Please, just leave," I whisper, the lump in my throat making it almost impossible to breathe.

She stands there for a few moments. Then she opens the bedroom door and leaves quietly, her footsteps echoing in the house. When I finally hear the front door slam shut, I curl up in a tight ball. My body is shaking with sobs as I finally allow myself to cry, whimpering and crying out in anguish for the loss of my last real hope for happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darkest just before dawn, eh? Things will (probably) (mostly) get better from now on. I'm a sucker for happy endings.


	5. Revealing Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're back. This chapter was a pain to write but I'm fairly happy with it now (finally).
> 
> Enjoy :) (and thanks for sticking with me despite the awful waiting)

As the days pass, I come to realize more and more just how much Emma was a part of my life. Days are empty and bleak while nights are tormented by memories of green eyes, a bright, infectious smile and a warm body pressed up to me. Ironically, as the pain from pushing her away dulls somewhat, the emptiness that Emma has left takes over.

My attempts to seem unaffected works about as well as I could expect. Henry notices, of course, but can't seem to figure out what to do, so he mostly settles with watching me carefully in that way that is so eerily similar to Emma's inquiring gaze. It wouldn't surprise me if he's already working on a new operation.

It's not until I one day absentmindedly think about the possibilities of removing my own heart that I realize that I can't continue like this. No matter what would have happened had I let Emma stay, this is no way to live and I need to find a way to get over her without following in Mother's footsteps. The mere thought of becoming like her or returning to my pre-curse ways sends a shudder through my body. I'm not that person anymore, nor do I ever want to be.

Days of depressing emptiness turn into days of thinking and planning but without success. Letting Henry know is out of the question and talking to Archie about it feels like nothing more than an exercise in futility. No, the only thing I can come up with that would make me happy is the one thing I told myself it was best to push away. It's maddening.

 

* * *

 

The monotony is finally interrupted one day when Snow shows up at my doorstep, smiling and looking as if her visits are an everyday occurrence.

"Hello, Regina. I brought you this." She holds out a plastic lunchbox. "Henry must have forgotten it."

I huff, rolling my eyes. "You found it necessary to come over here with a lunchbox? You'll have to work better on your excuses." She has that determined look in her eyes though, and I know she won't give up without a fight. "I would tell you to go away but knowing you Charmings, it would probably take another curse to do so." I turn around and head back inside without another word.

She follows me, closing the door behind her. "I came to talk about Emma." Pause. "And about you."

"Oh," is all I can say, flinching when I hear her name. "Then talk." Usually, we're on fairly good terms, even having lunch together, but something about how she speaks and holds herself today strikes a nerve. She's not the meek Mary Margaret or the righteous Queen Snow, but the cunning, calculating woman that she was when on the run from my troops so long ago. The look in her eyes reminds me of Emma before the curse broke, fierce and challenging.

"I'm not blind–" she begins, then stops abruptly and lets out a little self-deprecating laugh. "I guess what I meant to say was, I'm not blind _anymore_. I know you and Emma–"

"How is that any of your business?" I snap, glaring at her.

"I didn't think it was, at first." She ushers me into the living room, somehow managing to get me to sit down on the sofa beside her. "It is between you and Emma and I'm not here to meddle. But whatever happened between you two is hurting you, it's hurting Emma and frankly, it's hurting others too."

Meeting her gaze evenly, I wait for her to continue.

Finally, she sighs. "Look, I know both of you would probably rather suffer in silence than ask for help at all, but none of this is making anyone happier. I saw Emma before, I know how happy she looked. And I know how she looks now."

I almost ask about Emma, a part of me desperate to convince myself that it isn't _that_ bad, that she isn't heartbroken and that this will all be a distant memory in a few weeks. But I can't, instead snapping my jaws shut with a click.

"Just talk to me, Regina."

A few moments pass before I reluctantly surrender to her pleading expression. "It wouldn't have worked," I mutter. "We wouldn't have... fit."

"Why not?"

"Because–" I search for words. "Eventually, she would have left. I would've hurt her, or held her too close, and she would have run."

Snow shakes her head. "You don't know that."

"Everyone leaves me, Snow!" An awkward silence settles, both of us a bit surprised by my outburst. "Daniel, Robin, Henry, they've all left. My whole family is gone."

"So you're going to shut yourself away before anyone else is able to leave? Regina, that won't make you happy."

"And what do you know about what makes me happy?"

"What I know," she says with an edge to her voice, "is that you don't get your happiness by just sitting around and waiting for it. You have to fight for it."

"Like you did?" I snort. "Are you really trying to be my role model?"

"No!" Snow lets out a frustrated huff. "But you can't give up like this. It's not fair to you and it's not fair to Emma."

"So you want me to fight? Fight like I did for Daniel?" My voice is laced with venom. "Curse, kill, _fight_? Is that what you want?"

"You're not that person anymore, Regina. We both know that." She sighs again, deflating slightly. "Why not just give her a chance, give yourself a chance? How do you know that you wouldn't be good together if you don't even dare to try?"

"I have done that two times," I say slowly, clenching my jaw. "Both times, the people I loved were taken from me. I will not put myself through that a third time."

There is a short pause, and then Snow nods. "Okay. So you'd rather just sit here, waiting and feeling miserable than actually doing anything." She goes silent again, frowning and pursing her lips as if she's thinking intensely about something. "Do you ever think about your times with Daniel anymore?"

"Of course I do." What little patience I have is rapidly running out.

"Do you regret them?"

"What?" Frowning, I look at her incredulously, wondering what the hell she is getting at. "The only thing I regret is that he died. You should know that better than anyone, Snow." Why she is bringing up old wounds now is beyond me.

"But he was taken from you," Snow presses. "Don't you wish you hadn't met him at all, to spare yourself the heartache?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't give up my time with Daniel for anything." A moment pass by before it hits me, and I realize what I've just said. Or more precisely, realizing what it _means_.

"You wouldn't give it up for anything, despite the pain," Snow fills in, a watery smile beginning to form on her lips.

I don't react, my mind racing to make sense of it all. I'm not even aware that she's gotten to her feet until she reaches down and brushes away a tear from my cheek.

"I suppose that's all I really had to say, then." She smiles again, brushing away another tear, before turning and leaving, the front door clicking shut soon thereafter.

 

* * *

 

It doesn't even take me two days to seek out Emma, even though I'm not sure what I hope to accomplish. The only thing I know is that I won't be able to focus on anything else until I've seen her again; perhaps I need some kind of closure, perhaps I need something else? Snow's words ring in my head, steeling what little resolve I do have and pushing away some of the fears. _I don't regret Daniel._ It's so simple I that I almost can't believe it.

Stepping into the Sheriff's office takes me back to before the curse broke, when I was just a mayor and Emma was just a sheriff. It's oddly similar yet completely different; I was never this on edge back then, even when Emma pushed me the most.

Emma is sitting by her desk, her legs lazily thrown up on top of it. At first it looks like she's sleeping, but when I come close I see she's simply staring blankly out the window.

"Tax dollars hard at work, I see." The comment comes out without a thought – also a reminder of easier times – and I wince. Not the best way to start a conversation.

She looks up, a myriad of emotions flitting across her face until she settles on a blank, tired expression. "What do you want?"

I hesitate, unsure of what to say. "I... we need to talk."

Emma lets out a mirthless bark of laughter. "Really. You do know that people usually use that phrase before they dump someone?"

"That's not–"

"You know what, just... don't," she sighs. "Whatever it is you want, I don't want to hear it. If it's about Henry, send an email or a carrier pigeon or whatever. Just go away." With that, she slumps back in her chair and resumes staring out the window.

Quelling my impulse to lash out, I take a deep breath and gather my thoughts. Moments pass as I try to force out the words, still not wanting to admit them, let alone saying them out loud. "I was wrong." 

As soon as I've spoken, Emma freezes. A moment later, she turns and gives me an incredulous look. "What?"

"I may have been wrong," I say, crossing my arms defensively over my chest, readying myself for another clash.

"No," she corrects me, regarding me with narrowed eyes, "no, you said you _were_ wrong. No 'may's."

"Fine," I snap. "I was wrong."

"Okay." She pauses, working her jaw. "About what?"

I sigh, tired of all the conflicts we always find ourselves in. "Us."

"Oh". She pulls down her legs and turns fully towards me, regarding me cautiously. "Last time we talked, you sounded awfully certain of where you wanted 'us' to go." The word "nowhere" remains unspoken.

"I've had a lot of time to think," I mutter, looking anywhere but at her.

"And what did you realize?" I can hear how hard she tries to keep her voice level.

"That being miserable is no way to live," I scoff. "And then, of course, your mother felt the need to contribute as well."

"She did _what_?" Emma blurts out. "She actually went over to you? I can't believe this, I told her not to–"

"As much as I dislike your mother," I cut her off, "this time, she was... helpful. In fact, she's the reason I'm here." The words taste like acid in my mouth but I force them out anyway, knowing that the truth is probably the only thing that might fix things between us.

Emma blinks, staring at me as if I've grown a new head. "Snow talking to you is the reason you're here. That is insane, you know?"

"I never said I enjoyed it," I huff, Emma's surprised expression nonetheless eliciting a faint smile on my lips.

"Huh," she mumbles and nods slowly, apparently still processing the fact. After a little while, she shakes her head and looks up at me again. "So what exactly about us is it you want to talk about?"

"A... great deal. But I would rather do this in a more private setting." Pausing, I hope I'm not pushing things too far or too quickly. "How about dinner? Tomorrow?"

Emma hesitates.

"I was thinking lasagna," I add, knowing how much Emma likes it. I'm not the only one that's easy to manipulate between us.

Emma's face somehow manages to drop and light up at the same time. "That's not fair," she mutters, unable to stop a smile from tugging on the corner of her lips. "Fine. Tomorrow." Her smile fades a little. "This doesn't mean anything, though. We'll talk. I don't guarantee anything."

"And I don't expect you to either," I agree. "I'll see you at seven."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may have felt a little fast-paced in comparison to the previous ones but honestly, we've reveled in Regina's sadness for four chapters already. Time for the home stretch. Expect 2-3 more chapters including a somewhat fluffy epilogue.
> 
> Not gonna say when it might be ready though. Won't even try. Heh.


	6. Critical Considerations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pops up out of nowhere* Oh hey, bet you folks thought this fic was dead! Close, but no. I've finished all three final chapters – including a suitably fluffy/domestic/sappy epilogue – and I'm posting them all in one go because 22 months is more than enough waiting done.
> 
> I also took the opportunity to go through the old chapters and edit them just a little. Nothing that changes the story, just a few changed words here and there and some minor changes to the scene in the kitchen in chapter 2.
> 
> Anywho, to any folks who's still around from when I started this and to all new readers, I hope you enjoy these new chapters :)

Surprisingly enough, Emma shows up right on time the next day, only moments after I've pulled the lasagna out of the oven. She's dressed in her iconic red leather jacket and her usual tight jeans and for a moment it all feels like the first time we met. She's even got that same worried, unsure glint in her eyes and it makes my stomach churn.

We eat in relative silence, only exchanging a few words here and there about safe topics: Henry, work, the town. Despite the tension in the air, I can't help but enjoy myself. Here with her, it feels good. It feels like home.

Unsurprisingly, the calm illusion is eventually shattered. "Let's cut the crap, okay?" Emma says after a long stretch of silence between us. "As nice as this is, you invited me here to talk. So talk."

I stiffen at her confrontational tone but wisely bite back any snippy remarks. "I wanted to talk about our relationship–"

"We don't have a relationship," Emma bluntly cuts me off. "And don't give me that mayoral formal talk. Just say what you want to say."

"I was getting there," I snap at her. I take a deep breath to try to remember what I had planned to say. The speech I had carefully laid out in my mind has already become a jumbled mess and I realize once again that detailed plans and scripted conversations never work with her. Emma isn't fooled by carefully woven speeches. I lick my dry lips and simply say, "I missed you."

Clearly, that isn't what she expected. Emma starts and visibly swallows, but other than that she manages to keep her features schooled. "Okay. And what do you intend to do about it?"

I hesitate, my instinct to go over to her and kiss her senseless being quickly pushed aside. "I was hoping to apologize. For my– for what I did that night."

"And then what, we kiss and everything is fine again?" She clenches her jaw and shakes her head, averting her eyes. "How am I supposed to trust you when you don't give a crap about me?"

I stare at her in disbelief. "Of course I care about you."

"Was that what you did when you tossed me away that night?" I can see the beginning of tears forming in her eyes. "After you led me on, made me believe that you actually saw me as something more than a good fuck?"

"I–I ended it for Henry's sake," I say without thinking. The reason – repeated over and over again in my mind until I almost believed it – sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

"That's a convenient excuse, isn't it?" Emma scoffs. "Was it because of him that you fucked me senseless one last time, too? No, you did it to spare yourself and we both know it."

I rack my brain to try to find a justification, but deep down I know she's right.

"That's what I thought," she mutters.

Silence fill the room again. I hate it and I hate how miserable she looks, how miserable I've made her feel.

"I'm sorry." I lick my lips again and force myself to look at her, even though it hurts. "You're right, I did it for myself. I thought it would make me feel better. And somehow... somehow I thought you wouldn't be hurt by it. Not this hurt by it." I actually have to laugh at that when I hear how delusional it sounds. Of course she'd be hurt by it, and somewhere I knew it. "It's not an excuse, just an explanation. I was selfish."

Emma just looks at me, no doubt trying just as hard as I do to try to come up with something to say.

"Wow." She runs her hand through her hair. "That's– I don't really know what to say. I should probably be mad at you, but I've been mad at you for weeks and I'm tired of. So I don't know." She frowned. "Is this what you wanted to do today? Apologize, clean your conscience?"

"No." I rub my forehead, all my thoughts and plans in a complete mess. "I don't know."

"Well, that's something we can agree on. We don't know what the fuck we're doing anymore."

A sad smile tug on my lips. "Did we ever?"

Emma stiffens. "I thought I did."

That catches my attention.

"That night," she continues, barely more than a mumble, "in the kitchen. I thought we'd..." She trails off, her expression hardening.

I swallow hard, remembering how close I had been to giving in completely to her back then. "I liked that."

"Not enough, obviously."

"I was scared, Emma. I still am."

"But of _what_? Fate?" she exclaims. "Since when did you give a shit about fate?"

"I've tried to fight it all my life. If you haven't noticed, it hasn't gone over well."

Emma crosses her arms, looking none too impressed. "Fate didn't screw you over, Regina – people did. Gold and Cora, hell, even me. But you know what? You might have lost a lot, but you've got Henry, you're on friendly terms with my parents, lots of people in town like you. You win some, you lose some." She winces. "That came out wrong."

I don't respond directly. After a life of good and evil, it's so easy to still view things in black and white. Some people win, some lose. Some are good, some are evil. Some are fated for misery.

But once again, Emma is at least partly right: fate didn't make me miserable this time, I did.

"It's not like all this is easy for me either, you know," Emma mutters, stabbing a piece of lasagna with her fork. "I didn't have any family until I was thirty, and I've never had a real home before. You think a part of me isn't waiting for everything to implode again? Some asshole showing up with a new curse or something?"

I feel sick to my stomach when I realize what it must have looked like to her: not some pragmatic way to protect our relationship but instead another rejection, someone else callously throwing her out of a place she was beginning to call home. I want to apologize again, but I doubt it will do much good. Instead, I say, "I want to fix this." When Emma doesn't reply, merely cautiously watching me, I continue. "I don't want things back to how they were before. It wasn't the sex I missed, it– it was you." How I manage to keep my voice from cracking, I'm not sure.

"That... won't happen tonight." She sighs and slumps forward, leaning her elbows on the table. "I'm a mess. Parts of me just want to take you to bed and forget all this shit ever happened, but I know that's a really bad idea."

I give her a brittle smile. "Yes. We should probably take things slow." Pausing, I wonder if I should press the matter or not. "That is, if you think there's a way for this, us, to work."

Emma looks at me a few long seconds, but then nods. Then, to my surprise, she barks out a laughs. "Mom would kill me if bad communication and sex was enough to mess things up completely between us. We've been through worse."

Her laughter makes the tension in room lessen at least a little. "That's true."

We share a look, full of something not entirely awful, and then she checks her phone and gets to her feet. "Anyway, I think it's time for me to head home."

I walk her to the front door. She steps through the door but lingers on the porch, hands in her pockets and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"I think we both need time," she says, "but I'm not all that good at waiting."

I scoff, good-naturedly, knowing all too well how little she enjoys patience. "I agree. On both accounts. Maybe we could have dinner again, see how it goes." I keep my voice business-like, but inside I'm not convinced she won't reject it outright.

She smiles, faint but genuine, probably for the first time during the evening. "I'd like that. Wednesday?"

"I'll make sure to have dinner ready." Suddenly, my nervousness bubbles to the surface. "That is – of course – if you want to do it here– we could have lunch at Granny's instead, if you'd like–" I'm babbling, and I don't like it at all.

"Your place will be fine. Don't worry about it." She straightens, then smiles again. "See you on Wednesday."

I watch her leave.

For once, it's not a wholly bad feeling.


	7. Unwitting, Unexpected

The following few weeks, we have dinner together every other day. Sometimes we talk about us and our relationship, but as the days pass the dinners become less of a way to clear the air between us and more of, well, a way to enjoy each others' company. Every time is easier and more comfortable than the previous one, but we never go past talking.

Despite the lack of intimacy, I find myself enjoying every minute of it. The anxiety isn't gone, but it isn't in control, and it isn't worse than what I felt during the previous weeks.

(The fact that Snow's words continue to help me when the worry threatens to take over is something I barely even admit to myself.)

Henry's relief is obvious, as is Snow's. Neither of them confronts me directly with it, but I know them well enough to see it.

After a few weeks, however, the dinners with Emma begin to feel a little off again. The unspoken rule that we stay in neutral territory – no sex, no intimacy – looms over us, as if crossing that particular line would make our carefully rebuilt friendship shatter instantly. It's not that I miss the nights with her – at least not only that – but with such a large part of our time together having been spent in bed it feels increasingly awkward avoiding it. That, combined with the fact that we only get together over dinner in my house makes the relationship seem like it's living on borrowed time, and I'm not sure what to do about it.

 

* * *

 

One evening when Emma comes over, I can sense that something is different with her. Her smiles don't quite reach her eyes and she seems preoccupied during much of our dinner. I can't help but wonder if this is what she felt that night that set all this in motion those weeks earlier. Is she about to end this? As much as I want to ask her, I hesitate, all through the evening. The question remains unspoken.

I'm washing the dishes, doing my best to avoid all kinds of worrying thoughts – _this is the night when it ends for good_ – with limited success, when Emma finally speaks.

"I talked to Snow today."

My hands slow down, but I continue doing the dishes. It calms me, if only a little. "Oh?"

"She, uh..."

I wait for her to continue. Seconds go by. Finally, I turn around to look at her. "What?"

Emma is sitting on a stool next to the kitchen island, her face set in a deep frown. "She... fuck." She makes a frustrated noise and runs her hands over her face. "We're doing it again."

Thoroughly puzzled, I turn off the water, pull off my rubber gloves, and turn fully towards her. "Doing what?"

" _Nothing_. Or, well, just–" She makes a useless gesture, then another frustrated noise. "We're doing the same thing we did the last time, just the other side of it. Are we just going to pretend the last couple of months didn't happen? That we've never had sex?"

"Oh." At least she's been noticing it as well. Remember what she said earlier, I frown. "Why did Snow get you to think of this?"

"Well, you know her. She was not so subtly wondering when you and I would go public, and I realized, I don't even know what we would go public with. We're doing everything backwards."

"No one can accuse us of doing things the easy way, that's for sure," I mutter.

She has that look in her eyes again, the one I can't quite interpret, and I'm not sure if I should feel awkward or excited because of it.

"So, what do we do now?" I ask.

She shrugs awkwardly, averting her eyes.

Something clicks; pieces of a puzzle suddenly finding their right place. She was waiting for me to take the initiative. The last time, she showed what she wanted, and nothing of that has changed. When it comes to me, however, she still doesn't know what I want. Sure, I've told her how I feel, to an extent, but talking and doing are two very different things.

Gathering what courage I can find, I push away from the kitchen counter and close the gap between us, stopping just in front of her, close enough that our legs touch. When she looks up, still a cautious expression firmly in place, I lean in and press my lips against hers. She stiffens at first but quickly relaxes, placing a hand lightly on my hip. 

"That works," she mumbles when I pull away, flashing me a lopsided smile. Then she snakes a hand behind my neck and gently pulls me in for a second kiss. Her lips are warm and soft against mine, and the kiss drags on for long enough that when we finally break apart again, my chest is heaving.

At some point I've linked my hands around her neck, apparently, and her hands are resting on my hips, having pulled me flush in between her thighs. It's intimate and comfortable and feels like home. Emma is looking up at me with an almost lazy, unguarded expression, eyes darting between my eyes and my lips.

I'm suddenly struck by the realization that this is really happening, that this isn't an end but a beginning. She's here, with me. She's mine.

My heart speeds up at that last thought. _Mine_. The thing I never allowed myself to do before is all I can think about now. I lean in, but this time the kiss is short – much to Emma's vocal dismay – as I trail my lips down her cheek onto her throat and neck.

She swallows hard when I run my teeth over the skin on her neck at first, her grip on my hips tightening just a little. I nibble once, twice, and both times elicit a faint but clear gasp.

"Fuck, Regina," Emma mutters, but she's quickly cut off.

I bite a little harder, and this time Emma the gasp turns into a moan.

"Why didn't you tell me you were into biting," she asks breathlessly.

I chuckle, sucking on her skin in a spot on her neck that makes her squirm under me. "I could ask you the same thing, dear." I pull back, grinning at the sight or her. Those marks will definitely be visible tomorrow.

Her pupils are blown wide and she's breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed. "You would have teased me about it."

"I suppose." I hesitate, still unused to this almost casual intimacy. "So..."

"How about we go upstairs," she says, with a hint of uncertainty. She licks her lips. "I want to fuck you properly this time." 

Even though she's referring to _that_ night, the remark doesn't sting. Instead, I simply step back and wait for her to get to her feet. 

Grabbing my hand, she takes the lead, out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Soon we're in my bedroom, but that's when her courage seems to run out. She lets go of my hand but doesn't move to do anything else, instead looking adorably awkward, unable to figure out what to do with her hands, let alone what to do with me.

Maybe it's old habits surfacing, or maybe it's just to show myself I'm not some passive observer, waiting for fortune to strike, but eventually I run out of patience. With an annoyed huff I close the distance between us and pull her in for a kiss, as my hands work to remove first her shirt and then her tank top. It doesn't take long for her to catch on, reaching for the zipper to my dress.

It's comfortably familiar, this dance at the foot of my bed. One by one, our clothes fall to the floor, guided by greedy hands that would much rather get lost over warm skin. I keep her distracted, nibbling and kissing her neck, although this time not because I need to, but because I can't get enough of the breathless noises it elicits.

Emma stumbles back against the bed, her back finally hitting the sheets. I crawl after, not wanting to spend a second away from her.

"Wait," she breathes, a gentle hand against my shoulder holding me back. A myriad of panicked thoughts flow through my mind, and she must see the worry in my expression because she quickly reaches up to kiss it away. "Nothing bad, don't worry. But I did say I wanted to fuck you properly. And that's not happening with me on my back."

Without further warning, she flips us both around, with me on my back underneath her and she straddling me, her knees on either side of my thighs. Grinning, she rakes her eyes over my body. "Much better." That cocky confidence of hers is back and it is intoxicating.

Any annoyed retort is swallowed by her lips as she reaches down and kisses me again. Her hand lingers near my chest, drawing patterns with her fingers over my skin until I groan in frustration. I need more.

Another time, I might have been embarrassed by how quickly she makes me come, but this time I can't even begin to care. She knows my body almost better than I do, keeping me on the edge longer than I though possible, but when she whispers into my ear, there's nothing I can do to hold the orgasm back.

" _I love you._ "

The product of weeks of frustration and worry all come crashing down on me all at once. I gasp and moan, clinging to Emma before throwing myself back against the bed, my back a perfect arc. I squeeze my thighs around Emma's hips and fist my hands in the sheets as hot waves of pleasure pulses through my body.

When the aftershocks end, I'm sure there's an embarrassingly goofy smile on my lips. I doubt my legs could hold even their own weight, but my limp, sweaty body feels too good for me to care. That warmth during the afterglow was something I could never truly enjoy, knowing that meant it was that much closer to when I would be alone again. Now, however, things are different.

My eyes fly open as I suddenly remember Emma's words. She's still straddling me, staring down at me with a guarded expression. I try to reach up with my hand, but my arm is still too tired. I grunt in frustration. "Get down here," I mumble, my voice hoarse. She leans down until I can reach up to kiss her, leaning slightly on my elbow. Slowly, I can feel some of the tension leaving her body. My muscles are starting to obey me again, so I cup the back of her head with my free hand and gently tilt her head to the side to get better access. A nibble here, a bite there, and Emma's getting tense again but for entirely different reasons.

I trail kisses up the side of her neck, ending just behind her ear. Pausing for a moment, I simply rest my lips against her skin. Yes, this is real. This is what I want. Confident for once, I place another kiss behind her ear, and then say it as well.

"I love you too."

There's a ragged sigh, and I pull back. Although she tries to hide it, Emma's eyes are definitely shinier than usual. I'm pretty sure mine are as well.

Smiling up at her, I let myself fall down on the bed again. "Lie down with me?" I ask, not much more than a whisper.

Emma untangles herself from me – I can't help but miss the feeling of her thighs against mine – and lies down next to me, her messy hair spread out on the pillow. She doesn't seem to know what to say, and neither do I, so I scoot closer to her, tangling my legs with hers and linking our fingers together. She smiles, enough to light up the room.

It's intimate, it's domestic, and it's perfect.

It's home.


	8. Morning Musings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, here comes the happy little epilogue with enough sugary sappy fluff to make your teeth fall out. Read with caution.
> 
> Anywho, this is the end of this fic. Phew. I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading and please do leave a comment, they brighten my day even more than writing happy fluff like this <3
> 
> (Also, if you want to, you can find me on tumblr over here: [nyczsq.tumblr.com](http://nyczsq.tumblr.com))

When I wake up, it takes a moment for me to gather my bearings. It's oddly warm, especially considering how it's raining, the muffled sound of raindrops hitting the windows filling the room. I turn around in bed, something that's considerably more difficult than usual; even muscles I had forgotten I had are sore.

It's when I see the woman next to me in bed that the memories of last night return to me, causing a wide smile to break out on my face. I'm not sure when we finally fell asleep, but it was well into the early morning. Carefully, I reach out and brush away a few locks of hair from Emma's face, but either she's sleeping too lightly or she was already awake, because her eyes flutter open.

"Hey," she mumbles, smiling as soon as she sees me.

"Hi."

She shifts a little in bed and then reaches up push some more of her hair out of her face. "So. This is new."

"I think I could get used to it, though." All those weeks before suddenly seem so far away.

"Yeah?"

I almost miss the hint of worry underneath her sleepy exterior. Scooting closer, I kiss her nose. It's ridiculously domestic and nothing I'd do in public, but it fits the moment. "Yes. I'm not going to toss you out of bed, Emma. I meant what I said last night."

Emma raises an eyebrow. "Which part?"

"All of it," I reply, feigning ignorance.

Emma pouts, looking so exaggeratedly miserable that I have to laugh. Soon, her exterior cracks and she joins in as well.

When the laughter dies down, I take pity on her and say, "The part where I said that I love you," before placing a quick kiss on her lips.

Her smile is bright but there is a smugness to it that wasn't there earlier. "Not the part where you suddenly got all religious on me?" Emma teases. "Something along the lines of 'Oh god fuck fuck _fuck_ '–"

I shut her up with another kiss. She doesn't seem to mind all that much.

"I could definitely get used to this too," she grins when I finally let her go. Then her grin turns into a yawn. "What time is it?"

Leaning over her, I check the her phone on the bedside table. "Almost eight."

"Good."

Before I can have anything to say about it, she loops her arm around my midriff and pulls me close to her, my back against her chest.

"We're sleeping late today," she mumbles, her breath warm against my neck.

For a brief moment, I consider arguing with her – after all, I'm usually up by now – but between her warmth against my back and the possessive arm around my stomach, I soon relent. In fact, I don't want this morning end at all.

The last things I remember before I fall asleep again is the feeling of our bodies pressed together, her scent filling my nostrils, and a few sleepy, whispered words.

" _I love you too, Regina_."


End file.
